The Forty-Eighth Illustration: Commentary

Little Jin climbed up on her own and gently rubbed Sang Sang’s forehead with her small hand before Sang Sang could even react. Sang Sang smiled, “My thoughts? Let them argue. The more attention they draw, the more people will come and offer their faith.”

“You’re getting better at keeping your composure. And what about other people’s works? You’ve seen so many on the way here—no opinions at all?” Boya flicked his finger at Little Jin again.

This time, seeing Boya’s hand move, Sang Sang quickly pushed Little Jin behind her hat to hide her. “Of course I have some thoughts. I’ve noticed that over eighty percent of the styles among all the media works are similar—in essence, it’s what you’d call the Academy style. On the surface, it seems like a hundred flowers are blooming, each competing for attention, but look closely and you’ll see recurring details. Those not in the Academy style are dismissed by the audience as the ‘wild path’—they’re creative, spirited, but somewhat rough in execution. Then there are the truly bizarre ones that I can’t understand—some use substances secreted by their own bodies as mediums. Aren’t they afraid those things might fall into the hands of an enemy?”

Boya replied, “It’s a racial trait. Want to learn it?”

Sang Sang’s mouth twitched. “Not really. Bathwater, bodily fluids, hair—I’ll pass. And those mud monsters who split off a lump of mud from their bodies to sculpt—well, I don’t have that ability.”

“That’s nothing. You just haven’t seen enough. There are far stranger things out there,” Boya laughed. “Aside from the mud sculptures, was there nothing else that left a deep impression?”

“There was a literary creation that interested me. It would fit well with my paintings.” Sang Sang lifted the brim of her hat and gazed toward a human girl holding a lotus flower. She had seen this girl in the Realm of Ten Thousand Trees before—one of the senior students who had once blocked her path. Even though her appearance had changed, Sang Sang recognized her. “But if you ask what truly left the deepest impression, it was the zither music of the Shui Ling from the Ancient Immortal Clan. I didn’t go in to see her, but her music reminded me of home, and the zither she plays resembles the ancient guqin from my homeland.”

“Shui Ling?” Boya thought for a moment. “You’ve got good taste. She’s one of the seed candidates this year and a favorite to win. She’s more low-key than Baizhu of the Wood Elves. Physical combat is her weakness, but she excels at spiritual arts. With her around, you might still only place second in the next stage of testing. They say she possesses the extremely rare Origin Dao Body. The trial of condensing the Origin at the Profound Level is nothing to her—she began to form the Water Origin as early as the Star Level.”

Sang Sang frowned. “The Origin of Water… ‘The highest good is like water; water benefits all things and does not contend.’”

“So you’ve read the Daoist scriptures,” Boya conjured a ball of water at his fingertip. “Water isn’t as harmless as it appears. Its forms are myriad and lethal. It can become mist, ice, or snow. Mastering the Origin of Water allows one to draw out the blood from a person’s body. Your rudimentary laws of time and space can’t defend against that. But the Saintess selection doesn’t judge by combat prowess, and there’s no head-to-head fighting. With Shui Ling’s personality, she won’t go looking for trouble, so there’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worried. In fact, I’m interested in the Origin of Water,” Sang Sang said, though she didn’t mention she was interested in every Origin. Since she intended to walk the path of mastering all laws of time and space, the more rules she could command, and the deeper her understanding, the better.

Boya frowned. “Do you think you can surpass her?”

Sang Sang explained, “Teacher, I understand your point. A true strong one doesn’t need their enemies to be weak—they must make themselves stronger. I wouldn’t provoke her, but if there’s a chance, I’d like to spar with her.”

“As long as you understand.” Boya nodded. “And your own work? What do you think?”

“My painting?” Sang Sang bit her lip in thought before replying, “Setting aside the superficial style, my work is also on the ‘wild path’—in its details, it’s less refined than the Academy style. It carries a distinct emotional tone, which some people like and others criticize. But overall, it’s not constrained by convention and is more adaptable than others’. So, yes, its strength is its wildness, and its weakness is also its wildness.”

“Not being bound by convention—that’s well said,” Boya praised her. “The temple has many spells to control internal energy, and most students can barely learn them, let alone innovate. You didn’t just memorize spells—you broke them down into runic arrays, then further into individual runes, reorganizing them to achieve the effects you wanted. That’s a rarer gift than mastering the laws themselves.”

Sang Sang wasn’t particularly proud of this. She sighed, “Is that so? In the God Grave, I had plenty of time, but most laws I absorbed faded away after barely scratching the surface. Even a single Origin in my soul sea could only help a law advance by one or two realms at most. But I’ve gained so much more from runes—I’ve memorized all the basic ones, and composed many arrays that work on soul and body. The laws, though, are still far more profound.”

“You have a problem with what I said?” Boya looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

Sang Sang shivered and shook her head. “No, Teacher, you’re right.”

Boya raised an eyebrow. “Which part am I right about? The praise?”

From the look in Boya’s eyes, Sang Sang sensed danger. She recalled his penchant for mischief, like the time he insisted on observing the process of someone’s belly swelling during the creative phase and refused to leave the exhibition hall. If he turned his mischief toward her, she would be in real trouble.

“Teacher’s words are law. Runes are simply the manifest form of the laws. Using runes creatively helps to understand the laws themselves. If I hadn’t learned runes, my gains in the God Grave would have been less than a tenth of what they are now. Runes are the reservoir; the laws are the water. The larger the reservoir, the more laws it can hold…”

Sang Sang rattled off a long string of explanations, all of them sounding fairly reasonable.

“You have quite the silver tongue…” Boya chuckled. “You’ve commented on the surface aspects of the works. What about their hidden attributes? Some people’s pranks are quite interesting. Have you tried experiencing them yourself? For example, sarcasm—using internal energy and true or false laws to affect consciousness. That’s well done.”

“No.” Sang Sang shook her head, thinking to herself that she had guessed right—he would like that sort of thing. “I only observed from the outside. It’s interesting to see a part of the body develop intelligence and speak. What’s the principle behind it? Legend has it that enlightenment can only enhance intelligence, but this seems like a clever trick.”

“Oh, that? That’s just a minor art,” Boya said, his tone a little haughty. “That’s witchcraft, not really about developing intelligence or the ability to speak. It’s just that, beforehand, a sentient soul is infused into the work. When an audience interacts with the piece, the soul temporarily attaches to them.”

Sang Sang frowned. “Isn’t that more or less possession?”

“Not exactly. It’s coexistence. The works must contain hidden safety contracts detectable by the main system, so the souls will leave automatically when the time is up.” Boya paused, his tone softening. “Though it’s a minor art, don’t think of witchcraft as evil. Those souls were all deeply resentful and died unwillingly. Collecting them isn’t to harm people, but to use faith to cleanse their malice. When their obsessions fade, they’ll disperse naturally, which is good for them…”

Before Boya could finish, a sharp scream suddenly erupted nearby.

“I’ve got it!”

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